


The Fifth Task

by Piscaria



Category: Classical Mythology
Genre: F/F, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2006, recipient:KelseyML
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 19:47:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piscaria/pseuds/Piscaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Psyche emerges from Hades unscathed, she thinks that her trials are over. Little does she know that Aphrodite has a fifth, even more difficult, task awaiting her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fifth Task

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Elke Tanzer for the beta.

> "Thou art more than the day or the morrow, the seasons that laugh or that weep;
> 
> For these give joy and sorrow; but thou, Proserpina, sleep."  
> _~Algernon C. Swinburne, from "Hymn to Proserpina" _  
> 

 

Psyche stepped out of the mouth of the tunnel, gripping the box that Aphrodite had given her. It was heavy, now, filled with Persephone's beauty. Glancing behind her, Psyche shivering at the sight of the dark tunnel leading down to Hades. She wished she could erase the journey from her mind -- the women washing their bloody garments in the river Styx, the wistful ghosts lining the shores, Charon leering at her as he plucked the copper coins from her mouth . . . Psyche shuddered, hurrying away from the tunnel's mouth.

 

"Come back and visit any time," Persephone had told her as she placed the box in Psyche's hands. Psyche had nodded, smiling sweetly, but now she vowed that only death itself could make her step back into Tartarus. For a moment, she envied the gods their immortality. How miserable and dreary death must be!

 

Psyche hurried through the streets of Lacadaemon, wanting to leave that tunnel and the memory of the underworld far behind her. Only when she'd left the city and started down the long path towards Aphrodite's palace did the tension begin to leave her shoulders.

 

She'd done it! She'd ventured into hell itself and emerged again, unscathed! Which other mortal woman could say such a thing? Better still, she'd completed her fourth and final task!

 

Hugging the beautifully inlaid box to her chest, Psyche finally allowed herself to smile. She carried Persephone's beauty in there, whatever it was -- the goddess hadn't let Psyche watch her fill the box. Now Psyche could return to Aphrodite and hand it over, and the goddess would finally reunite her with Eros.

 

Wistfully, Psyche laid a hand upon her swollen stomach, remembering how pleased her husband had been when they'd learned that she was pregnant. She might have gotten drunk on his kisses that night, on the slide of his smooth hands over her body. Sweet Eros. She remembered the first, and only, glimpse she'd gotten of him, lifting the lantern over his sleeping form. The force of his beauty had shocked her senseless, and the knife she'd brought along to behead him with had fallen from her fingers, as though it too were overcome with shame at the thought of slicing through his golden skin. Psyche winced, remembering what had happened next. The lantern tipping in her hand. The drop of burning hot wax. And Eros, waking, his face twisted with horror and pain at the sight of her, of what sheÕd tried to do to him.

 

Tears prickled in her eyes, and she wiped them away. He'd forgive her. He had to. There was the baby to consider, after all, and surely he wouldn't discount all that she'd suffered for his sake. How many trials and humiliations his mother, Aphrodite, had put her through! How many indignities Psyche had suffered, and she being of noble birth, the most beautiful of mortal women! Of course, her beauty had gotten her into this mess, winning her Aphrodite's spite. But Eros had loved her at first for her beauty, he'd said. For that alone, she couldn't bring herself to hate the Fates who'd made her beautiful.

_Well, you're certainly not very beautiful now,_ a voice inside her said. It sounded a bit like Aphrodite's -- no wonder. She'd heard the goddess's spiteful tones so often that it didn't surprise Psyche that they'd insinuated themselves into her head. Ruefully she lifted a hand to her unkempt hair, wishing that the voice weren't quite so accurate. What a sight she must look, barefoot and disheveled, unwashed, in rags, and heavy with pregnancy besides! Eros would probably take one look at her and decide to find a different wife, one who hadn't nearly murdered him in his sleep. And no doubt Aphrodite had planned it that way, Psyche thought, glowering at the box in her hands. The scheming bitch! She'd hated Psyche before she even met her, and all because the human woman had been born nearly as beautiful as she.

_I'll show her,_ Psyche thought, pausing mid-step in the middle of the forest path as a new thought came to her. She carried beauty with her, didn't she? She could steal a bit for herself -- not all of it, of course; she'd need something to take back to Aphrodite. But a little bit. Enough to make her beautiful again. Enough to remind Eros why he'd fallen in love with her.

 

Smiling at her own cunning, Psyche opened the box.

 

Sleep wafted up like a ghostly shade, tinged with scent of that Stygian palace: overripe fruit and the hint of something as dark and rich as the veins of gold running through clotting earth. A scent dark and faintly cloying, utterly impossible to ignore. It curled its arms around her neck, touching spectral fingers to her eyelids. Psyche struggled against it in vain, slamming the lid of the box shut against it. Yet it only coiled around her tighter, bearing her down.

 

Psyche didn't realize she'd fallen until she felt the grass beneath her cheek. Warmed by the sun, it felt softer and more inviting than any of the down-filled pillows in Eros's palace. The box slipped from her fingers. Sleep wrapped around her like a blanket. Closing her eyes, she gave herself up to it.

 

In her dreams, Eros came to her, his strong hands cupping her shoulders and the heat of his breath warming her neck as he buried his face in her hair. She inhaled his familiar fragrance, that sweet scent of sun, and sky, and summer fields, mixed with his own heady musk. Intoxicating, that scent. She nuzzled his neck, winding her arms around his strong shoulders. Her fingers brushed something soft and downy on his back, and she gasped, remembering the wings she'd glimpsed in that one, brief flash of lamplight. He'd always kept them hidden from her before.

 

Eros lifted himself up on one elbow and smiled at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief. She'd never seen him smile before, but how well she could imagine it! He reached over his shoulder and plucked one of his own white feathers, and she sighed happily as he touched it to her lips.

 

He drew the feather down her neck, drawing a line between her breasts. She moaned, arching up into the too-light touch. Smiling, he traced the curve of her left breast, drawing an ever-tightening spiral around her nipple.

 

"Yes," she murmured, wanting more.

 

"You like that, do you?" The voice was female and dripping with scorn. By now, Psyche knew it as well as she knew her husband's voice.

 

Opening her eyes, Psyche found herself staring up at Aphrodite, whose perfectly-shaped lips curved in spiteful amusement, and whose blue eyes sparkled with some private malice, bright as diamonds, and just as cold. Gasping, Psyche drew back, startled to realize that she really was in bed, one softer and wider than she'd ever seen. A down mattress dipped beneath her weight, and silk sheets clung to her naked skin -- her clothes were missing.

 

Psyche blushed at her nakedness, drawing the sheet up around her. Aphrodite only smirked, managing to make even her malice seem beautiful. In the flickering candlelight, her hair glowed as golden as the many fibulae holding the top edges of her silk chiton up around her white shoulders and down the length of her long, smooth arms. The chiton itself was simpler than any Psyche had seen Aphrodite wear before -- no gold or silver threads, no jewels or pearls, no intricate embroidery. It was fashioned of a pink silk as pale and opalescent as the inside of a seashell, and it made AphroditeÕs skin glow against it. A simple gold girdle fastened it around Aphrodite's small waist. She wore no sandals, and no jewelry either, save for the row of golden fibulae holding up her chiton. The simplicity of her garments framed Aphrodite's beauty as her elaborate costumes never did, and Psyche swallowed at the unspoken message that the understated clothing conveyed.

 

Whatever it was that Aphrodite had sent her to borrow from Persephone, it hadn't been beauty. Aphrodite didn't need to borrow that: her loveliness needed no enhancement, no refinement. The wooden box had been another of her traps -- and Psyche had walked right into it of her own accord. Psyche drew back into the pillows, wondering what would happen to her now.

 

Aphrodite lifted the feather she was holding, twirling it idly in the air.

 

"It's his, you know," she said conversationally. "I plucked it just this morning. I always did love his wings -- they're softer than any bird's, donÕt you think? But I suppose you never felt them, did you?"

 

Psyche shook her head, afraid to speak. Wide-eyed, she glanced around the room, looking for an escape. Aphrodite's bower gleamed with opulence. Sheer silk hangings in creamy pinks and violets hung from the ceiling. Clustered candles shone in the corners, gold-dipped pearls gleaming softly around them, arranged in bowls like grapes. The air smelled of roses, honey, and some fainter, sea-sharp scent that brought a blush to Psyche's cheeks. But she saw no door. With all of the hangings, the exit could be anywhere.

 

Aphrodite tapped the feather against Psyche's lips, drawing her attention back to her. "You really were a naughty thing," she said. "I told you not to peek inside that box. But you couldn't resist, could you? You had to get some of it for yourself."

 

Her eyes narrowed, and she rose from the chair she'd been sitting in, her body shifting smoothly, like a cat's. She climbed onto the bed, and sat on the side of it, crossing her long legs haughtily before her.

 

"You're vain, greedy, and not nearly as special as you think you are," she sneered. "Why on earth do you think you're worthy of my son?"

 

"I . . . I love him," Psyche stammered, clutching the sheet to her chest. Aphrodite's nearness made her nervous. She could see the goddess's nipples beneath her thin silk chiton, the perfect curves of her breasts. A blush came to Psyche's cheeks, and she swallowed, aroused despite herself.

 

Aphrodite drew the feather across her own lips, smiling coldly. "I know what you were dreaming about," she said.

 

"I donÕt know what you mean," Psyche said, hugging herself defensively. "I . . . I was dreaming about my parents. About playing with my sisters as a girl."

 

Aphrodite slapped her sharply across the cheek. "DonÕt lie to me," she said. "I know what Persephone bottles into those sleeps of hers -- she invented them for herself, when sheÕs alone for all those lonely months without her husband."

 

Psyche tried to control her shock, but the goddess saw through it in a second.

 

"You're surprised?" she said. "I don't blame you. Hades puts most people off. Too much time in the underworld. All those dark mists. All those ghosts whisping around. It's utterly morbid." She waved her hand, long fingernails flashing in the sunlight. "Still," she said, "He's Zeus's brother. He must have inherited some of the family talent. Now the question, my dear," she continued, leaning close enough to Psyche that the human woman could smell the sweet fragrance of her hair, "Is did you?"

 

"Did I what?"Ê Psyche asked, trying not to look at the long line of thigh the goddess was exposing. The open sides of Aphrodite's chiton fell away from her crossed legs, and Psyche could faintly see the patch of shadow between Aphrodite's thighs.

 

"Don't play coy with me," Aphrodite said. "Consider this your fifth and final task. This time, I can make sure nobody helps you. I want to see all that you've learned from Eros. I want to see if you're worthy of my son."

 

"You . . . you mean?" Psyche stammered, unable to believe her ears. Her heart began pounding even harder. Surely the goddess couldn't expect her toÊ . . .Ê why, they were both women!

 

But Aphrodite nodded, wrinkling her nose in annoyance. "You've detracted quite a bit of attention from my temples with all your hubris,Ó she sneered. "Here's your chance to start making up for it." Stretching, she lifted her chin proudly, reaching upward to let the golden curtain of her hair down from its knot. She looked even more beautiful with her hair falling around her shoulders, the too-perfect lines of her face softened by the fragrant curls.

 

"Worship me," she said.

 

Psyche shook her head to clear it, feeling as if she were back in the dream. Surely the goddess couldn't be serious! But Aphrodite was crawling up the bed to sit beside her. Leaning back against the pillows, the goddess looked at her expectantly.

 

Swallowing, Psyche leaned forward, and touched AphroditeÕs cheek, still holding the sheet up to cover her own nudity. Blue eyes swept down to watch her hand, like a cat studying its prey, and Psyche bit her lip, unsure what to do. How could two women possibly make love together? Wracking her brain, she tried to think back to her nights with Eros, remembering what he did to her.

 

Eros always kissed her when he came to her at night, but glancing at Aphrodite's sneering lips, Psyche couldn't bring herself to show that much affection to the goddess who'd brought her such torments. She let her hand fall away from Aphrodite's cheek, and reached instead for one of the golden fibulae holding up Aphrodite's chiton.

 

Psyche unfastened the first pin with only a little bit of fumbling. It was difficult to do one-handed. She set the fibula on the night table, trying not to look at the ivory skin revealed by the drooping fabric of Aphrodite's chiton. Biting her lip, Psyche reached for the next pin, slowly pulling it from the silk. This time, the top of the chiton gaped low enough to reveal a perfect breast. PsycheÕs cheeks flared hot, and Aphrodite smirked.

 

"Do you take so long undressing him?" she asked. "IÕm amazed he puts up with it. He never was a very patient boy."

 

"He comes to me naked," Psyche said.

 

Aphrodite shook her head. "I can see why." Sitting up, she pulled the chiton over her head, letting it fall to the floor in a puddle of silk. Her body was so blinding in its beauty that Psyche could only gape for a moment. The sheet sheÕd been holding up around her fell free as her hand slackened in shock. She'd seen a hundred statues of Aphrodite, but none of them did the goddess justice. Aphrodite stretched her shoulders slightly, as if covering herself with clothing had been a ridiculous burden that she was glad to be free of. Psyche drank in the sight of her, longing to hold those beautiful breasts in her hand, yet horrified of her own desire. How could she possibly want to touch her cruel mother-in-law like that?

 

Aphrodite laughed at her hesitation. "Well you certainly are a timid thing," she said. "I can see why he chose you. He always did like to have his own way with everything."

 

Her cheeks flaring hot, Psyche leaned forward, extending her hand. She meant to touch her fingers to Aphrodite's breast, but at the last moment, her courage gave way. She touched the collarbone instead, drawing her finger along the jutting length of it.

 

Aphrodite rolled her eyes.

 

Glaring at her, Psyche felt her uncertainty momentarily unsettled by hatred. She did reach for the goddess's breast, squeezing it hard enough to hurt.

 

"Is that better?" she asked.

 

Aphrodite stretched languidly, as though Psyche didn't have her breast in one hand. "Watch yourself, human," she said. "You're entirely too cocky. Do you think that sleeping with a god makes you worthy to be one of us?"

 

"You're jealous," Psyche breathed, realizing the words even as she spoke them. Her hand fell from Aphrodite's breast, landing in her own lap.

 

Aphrodite's eyes flashed. "Of you? Hardly. You, my dear, are a summer's day. Your beauty will peak with noon and die with the setting sun. Time takes all your kind in the end. I am summer eternal," she said, shaking her hair. "I'll still be lovely when you're rotting in the grave."

 

"No," Psyche said, gaining confidence as she spoke. She'd touched a nerve, and that was something. Better that than unpenatrable boredom. "Not of my beauty. You're jealous of me for having him. It must be hard, isn't it? He's the most beautiful god in all Olympus, and the only one that you can't touch."

 

"You don't know what you're talking about. He's my son!"

 

"Oh yes," Psyche said. "I saw the statues. He was such a chubby little thing. IÕll bet you were surprised when he grew up to look like he did." And lowering her voice, she leaned forward, breathing into Aphrodite's ear, "And he _did_ inherit the family talent."

 

She flicked out her tongue, tracing the curve of the goddess's ear, and felt relieved to see Aphrodite's chest rise briefly at the touch.

 

"You nursed him, didn't you?" she asked, and Aphrodite nodded, breathing heavily. Psyche squeezed her full breasts, kneading them back and forth. "He loves my breasts," she said. "He won't take his mouth off them."

 

She flicked her tongue against one of Aphrodite's nipples, licking around it slowly as she tweaked its twin with her fingers. Some of the malice had left the goddess's eyes; she watched Psyche expectantly, her chest rising and falling with her breath. Psyche planted a slow kiss on the tip of Aphrodite's nipple, and pulled away, refusing to suck on it just yet. Eros sometimes buried his face between Psyche's breasts, so she did that, breathing in the honey-sweet fragrance of the goddess's skin.

 

"Sometimes," she whispered, pulling back slowly, "he likes to make love to me there." She placed two fingers between Aphrodite's breasts, rubbing them back and forth to demonstrate, and the goddess drew in a breath.

 

"He comes on them," Psyche whispered, "and then he licks it off." And she ran her tongue down the curve of Aphrodite's full breast, lapping it slowly, as Eros did to her. Psyche lifted her head, doing her best to mirror the mischievous smile Eros had shown her in her dream. She must have done it right -- Aphrodite breathed in sharply, her eyes widening a bit with disbelief. Still smiling, Psyche ducked her head and fastened her mouth over the goddess's nipple. Aphrodite cried out, and her hands tangled in PsycheÕs hair.

 

Psyche sucked the nipple slowly, kneading her other breast with her hand. Her free hand stroked its way down Aphrodite's side, sliding over her flank and the curve of her hip. Psyche curled her hand around the jutting hipbone, trying not to think of what lay between the goddess's smooth thighs. Gathering her courage, she slid her hand over Aphrodite's hip. Her fingers encountered the soft patch of pubic hair, nearly as lush and thick as the golden tresses on the goddess's head, and Psyche swallowed. Tentatively, she ran a finger down that soft valley, drawing it into the clefts between the goddess's downy lips. Aphrodite was wet there.

 

Feeling a bit more confidant, Psyche explored that moist valley. At the deepest patch of wetness, she pushed in, relieved to feel her finger sliding inside. Aphrodite arched up against her hand, moaning. Swallowing, Psyche added another finger, curving up, searching for that spot that Eros always found.

 

There. Aphrodite bucked beneath her hand and gasped, tossing her head back onto the pillow. Psyche curled her fingers again, and then again, stroking that spot as hard as she could.

 

"He loves to fuck me," she whispered. "He starts off slow, and then he speeds up, moving back and forth inside me."

 

She echoed the words with her fingers as she spoke, and Aphrodite rocked back against her, her hips moving in the rhythm of the sea. With her thumb, Psyche explored the skin between the goddess's inner lips, searching for the little nub she'd discovered between her own legs as a girl. Her thumb brushed over it, and Aphrodite cried out, her eyes drifting shut in pleasure. Moistening her thumb with some of the AphroditeÕs own juices, Psyche rubbed it in a circular motion, still pressing her fingers in and out of the goddess. Aphrodite moaned, and started trembling beneath Psyche's hands. Psyche stroked her until the last of the tremors ran its course.

 

Pulling her hand free, she studied the clear liquid coating her fingers. She sniffed it curiously, finally identifying the sea-sharp scent pervading the room. As Aphrodite watched with languid eyes, Psyche brought the hand to her mouth. She imagined that it tasted as pearls might taste, if they were melted in moonlight into this glistening potion. Aphrodite smiled, with none of her usual scorn. Sitting up, she tipped Psyche back against the mattress, spreading her legs apart with her hands. Psyche only had time to gasp before Aphrodite's face disappeared between her legs. Now she knew where Eros had inherited that clever tongue of his from! Aphrodite had her moaning and shaking within minutes. Closing her eyes, Psyche gave herself up to pleasure.

 

When the last of the tremors eased, she opened her eyes to find Aphrodite leaning over her, a thoughtful look on her face.

 

"Congratulations," Aphrodite said. "You've passed."

 

Psyche blinked, her head only just beginning to clear. "You mean . . .?"

 

Aphrodite nodded. "I consent to your marriage," she said. "I'll have Zeus himself declare your union."

 

"Oh, thank you!" Psyche breathed, forgetting, for a moment, all of the trials that Aphrodite had put her through within the last few days. She threw her arms around the goddess. Aphrodite chuckled, and patted her head.

 

"You thank me now," Aphrodite said. "You just wait. He's been driving me crazy with his whining and moping these last few days. Soon enough, you'll be begging me to take him off your hands." She glanced at Psyche calculatingly, and drew a finger down her spine. "Or to take you off his," she added.

 

Psyche blushed, glancing down at the sheets. "What would he say if he knew?" she asked.

 

"About us?" Aphrodite smirked. "Why don't you tell him and see?" she said. "I think he'd find the thought of it intriguing."

 

"Really?" Psyche felt her eyes widen.

 

Aphrodite smirked. "Surely you don't think it's a coincidence he chose you," she said. "Boys like girls who resemble their mothers, and out of all the women and goddesses in the world, only you could rival me."

 

Psyche felt herself blush. Surely the goddess had to be joking! Yet the rules were different for immortals, Psyche knew. Zeus was married to his sister, after all, and it was no secret that Aphrodite slept with her husband's brother, Ares. Incest didnÕt seem to matter much to the gods. Perhaps Eros did secretly lust for his mother, just as Aphrodite seemed to yearn for him. Psyche shook her head to clear it, knowing that she should be shocked and offended. Yet . . . perhaps when one slept with the gods, one ought to do as the gods themselves did.

 

Touching a hand to her stomach, Psyche smiled. She was married to a god, she had slept with a goddess, and soon, she would be bearing an immortal herself. And since Aphrodite seemed to have forgiven her, who knew? Perhaps in time she could convince Eros to feed her nectar and ambrosia and burn away her own mortality. It might be hubris to consider it, but hubris had led her into Eros's bed, and into the bed of his mother. Perhaps there was something to be said for hubris after all. Psyche wasn't a goddess -- not yet, at least -- but the rules were different for immortals, and she might as well start learning them now.

 

Cuddling close to Aphrodite, Psyche kissed her once, quickly. "You know," she said. "I might just ask you to do that." And into the goddess's ear, she breathed, "Perhaps one day we'll truly share him."

 

Aphrodite inhaled sharply. Rolling over, she pressed Psyche back down to the mattress. Psyche smiled, wrapping her arms around the goddess as Aphrodite covered her with kisses. Perhaps, she thought, she'd write a thank you note to Persephone. The little box hadn't done much for her beauty, but it had given her more than she ever thought she'd have.

 

Finis.


End file.
